Chapter 17
17
LOGAN
I strum my guitar with closed eyes, letting the first bars flow through my fingers before starting again, trying to find the next notes. The next lyrics. It’ll all come to me eventually, that I know. But at the moment, something is blocking me.
That something being obvious.
In what could be mistaken for comedic cosmic timing when it’s really just sheer and stupid bad luck, my phone chimes on the coffee table ahead of me.
I open my eyes. Nearly every inch of the surface is covered in yellow sticky notes, except for the screen with the brand-new text notification just waiting to ruin my night.
Unknown
Tick tock, Mr. Shock.
An unrecognized number, but I deleted that man from my contacts the moment we leaked the audio of him confessing his evil plans.
I scoff. It’s only been one day . Patience is a virtue, isn’t it?
I grab the phone and send a reply.
Logan
I’m working on it.
Dropping the phone back on the table—this time, face down—I take a breath, attempting to close my eyes and flow back into the song, but I hit the same block before I even reach the end of the first verse.
Frustrated, I set my guitar down and stare at the mess of sticky notes instead. As I do, memories flash into my mind. Light ones. Pleasant ones.
Katrina ones.
Watching her sing karaoke at Diablo Pink. Listening to Criminal Records’ bus conversations, but only hearing her laugh. The way she looked at me in Chicago when we asked them for help. She was the only one who believed me, the only one who seemed to… care.
You move like a song, I've always known,
A melody stitched deep in my bones…
I grab a pen and fumble to find my blank stack of notes as a keycard slides through my lock.
The door erupts open amid a wave of familiar laughter. I put the pen down, ready to greet my girls as they stumble in, the sound of shopping bags hitting the walls the first clue of a successful girls’ day out.
“Hey, Boss!” Goldie says. “We’re home.”
“And what did you—” I stop, quickly rising when I see the third person walking in with them.
Katrina.
She lingers behind Tesla and Goldie, hovering by the door to stay out of their way as they drop a dozen bags on the floor. I stare past them, unable to stop my gaze from flowing down, traveling the length of her sundress from top to bottom.
This one is blue with yellow roses printed on it. It’s cinched tightly at the waist, making her hips and breasts pop in a way that makes parts of me pop as well.
“I found so much good stuff for you today,” Tesla says. “I can’t wait to show you. Model for me tomorrow?”
“Uh...” I blink, realizing too slowly that she was talking to me. “Uh-ahh-huh.”
Goldie titters as she tilts back toward Katrina. “See?” she says. “Nothing but vowels.”
Katrina smiles.
“You ready for dinner?” Tesla asks me. “It’s early, but the girlies are starving.”
I nod, clearing my throat and hoping for words. “I can eat. Just need to change.”
“Samesies,” Goldie says, snatching up two of the bags. “Blue, come help me into this jumpsuit.”
Tesla makes an excited noise and heads out the door with Goldie with a few bags of her own. “We’ll meet you guys in the lobby in five? Eh, make it ten?”
“Sure,” Katrina says, standing back as they go.
The door closes behind them, muting their laughter and voices.
Katrina stands still, her arms folded over the two shopping bags in front of her. “Hi,” she says.
“Hello.”
“They kidnapped me.”
“I figured as much when I saw you,” I say. “And I assumed they would when Tessie demanded I tell her where you lived, so sorry about that.”
She laughs. “It’s okay. We had fun.”
“Good.” I cross the room to the closet. I grab my suitcase from inside and drop it on the bed. “I like your dress.”
“Thank you. They told me that... that it would look good on me.”
I nod in agreement. “They’ve got an eye for that.” I pull a plain black T-shirt from my suitcase. “How are you? They weren’t mean to you, were they?”
“No. Not at all. They?—”
I peel the shirt off my body. In the time it takes to yank it off my head, Katrina spins around to face the wall instead.
“Nice,” she says, the word about two octaves higher than the previous one. “They were very nice.”
I smile as I pull the black shirt on. “You don’t have to avert your eyes, you know,” I say, teasing. “If I didn’t want you seeing me naked, I’d have changed in the bathroom.”
A few vowel sounds tumble out before words form. “I just, um...” Her throat clears. “I don’t want you to think I’m gawking or anything.”
“Wouldn’t mind if you did.”
She says nothing, merely giving a hum of acknowledgment, her stance firmly in place.
I gather a belt from my bag and slip it on, quickly fastening it before grabbing a bomber jacket from the closet. When she still hasn’t turned back around, I step over to her silently. I stop behind her, wondering if she can feel me. Wondering how long it’ll be before her curiosity gets the best of her and she peeks over her shoulder.
A long time, apparently.
When my smile couldn’t possibly stretch further, I say an inch behind her ear, “You ready to go?”
Katrina startles, gasping loudly as she spins around. Her hand moves instinctively, defensively, and I snatch her wrist in the air before she can strike me.
“Logan—!” A relieved smile hops to her lips. “God, you scared me.”
“Jumpy, are we?”
“No, I just, uh...” She swallows to catch her breath. “I get real deep in my thoughts sometimes and any sudden...” Her eyes drift to her hand, my fingers still lightly curled around it. “Any sudden movements or sounds or... I get spooked.”
“Won’t be seeing you at any Halloween carnivals this week?”
“A world of no,” she says, laughing it off.
I smile, gently rotating our hands so her palm points up. I run a finger along her wrist, traveling along the blue veins into her palm. “Hmm, yes. I can see that.”
“What?” she asks, her posture stiff while her fingers remain pliable.
“Well, you see this line here?” I say, gliding my fingertip down one line etched into her palm. “That’s the Scaredy Cat line.”
Katrina snorts. “Is it?”
“Yes, it’s all right here. Cursed to live a life of flinches, screams?—”
“Stop.”
“And bed wetting.”
Katrina pulls her hand from my grasp. “I am not a bed wetter,” she says, trying not to laugh.
“Must be wrong, then,” I say, glancing at the copious shopping bags still stacked on my floor. “You don’t have to join us for dinner if you don’t want to. The girls can be awfully insistent, but I can provide an escape route if you’d rather go home.”
“No,” Katrina says, flashing a smile. “I don’t need to escape.”
“You sure?”
She nods. “Got no one waiting up for me.”
Damn.
A part of me wishes she’d say no.
That she’d run as far away from me as possible. I could tell Monroe that she would have none of me, and then find some way to beg him to leave Tesla alone.
But then she smiles.
And I’m all hers.
“Let’s go,” I say, gesturing toward the door.